no glory
by fiesa
Summary: It is the last thought that accompanies her when she falls asleep. OneShot– Kiki, Mitsuhide and the only reason for servitude.


**No Glory**

_Summary: It is the last thought that accompanies her when she falls asleep. OneShot – Kiki, Mitsuhide and the only reason for servitude._

_Warning: -_

_Set: Story-unrelated._

_Disclaimer: Standards apply. _

_A/N: Christmas 2012. Have a wonderful time!  
_

* * *

"Stay."

There are many nuances in his tone and she understands them all. Some people would have heard reassurance, and a promise, even worry for her, perhaps. And perhaps these reasons are there, too, but they lose importance in the face of what he really is saying.

_Stay_ here. _Protect_ Zen. _Don't leave him _out of your sight until this is over.

Almost casually, Mitsuhide's hand has drifted to the hilt of his sword. Almost imperceptibly, he has crouched down. He starts forward like an arrow fired from a cross-bow. His hand flies, a blurred streak of silver, a scream of terror emanates. With a _thump_, a man goes down. He never stood a chance.

A god of death has descended.

...

Kiki holds her position. Her sword is drawn, her whole body rigid with tension and anticipation and her senses are divided between the boy behind her and the assassins that attack them. She can almost hear Mitsuhide's voice. _I told you it's a bad idea._ Too bad Zen didn't listen to him. But then, he never did when it came to those things. Zen wanted to see the world. Zen wanted to talk to the people of his country, wanted to see the place he lived in. Zen was one of the people that were hardest to protect because they refused to stand still and be protected. Zen was a reckless, dutiful and loyal boy of seventeen – almost eighteen – years, a man already, willing to go wherever he thought was necessary going. Right now he was as willing and eager to participate in the fight as Kiki was – but for the wrong reasons.

"Stay where you are."

"But…"

"_Stay._"

Kiki doesn't have the same influence on the Prince Mitsuhide has, but something in her voice makes Zen freeze. His sword is drawn, too. She has seen him practice – has even trained with him a few times herself – and even though she is still a stranger to him compared to Mitsuhide, she knows Zen is capable of defending himself. But Mitsuhide told her to stay put and she will make Zen do the same thing.

There is a difference in their reasons, always was.

Zen fights for his country and his people. He, not unlike his brother, is willing to go through lengths of discomfort in order to right the wrongs and protect the weak. But while Prince Izana is cunning and brilliant, Zen is straight-forward and blunt. Like a sword: sharp and lethal when applied. Like an unused sword, he fears becoming blunt when he remains in the castle for too long, which is why he uses every excuse to slip away. Zen wants to fight because he wants to defend not himself but the people of the country, wants to fight in order to right the wrongs. It is an honorable reason but sometimes futile and Kiki has no intention of letting him get what he wants right now.

Kiki fights for something entirely different. Kiki fights for the sake of the fight, and for the ending of it, simultaneously, and even though she loves it she knows it is dangerous. Treacherous. But Kiki also fights for the protection of the person behind her. Which is why she won't let anything happen to Zen, and she is perfectly happy to hold her position and to protect Zen by not letting any unpleasant surprise the assassins have brought along get through the impenetrable wall of a whirling blade that is Mitsuhide.

Mitsuhide, too, fights, and like Kiki he does not fight for the country of Clarines. But unlike Kiki, he only fights for one reason.

With a scream a man charges at Mitsuhide, his sword raised and ready. Mitsuhide dives under his attack gracefully. The man stumbles, struggles to turn and face his adversary and chokes on his own blood as a sword runs him through from behind. Mitsuhide uses the momentum he has gathered to throw the man back, freeing his sword, and slashes the head of the fourth attacker straight off. A fountain of blood erupts. To Kiki's sharpened senses, each drop glistens in the light of the sun like a diamond. A salto and Mitsuhide stands in the midst of the group of attackers. Clinically, Kiki observes the fact that these men are trained but not by knights. Someone clearly spent a lot of time, resources and money on this assassination attempt. They would have to return as quickly as possible in order to report this to Prince Izana. Lord Nadare had always hated the Royal Family, the war between Belatone and Clarines was as old as the kingdom itself. It could well be possible that the Lord had finally decided on a course of action. If Prince Izana was already working on a solution to this problem, Kiki had no knowledge of it. Perhaps the fragile truce between Belatone and Clarines would last a bit longer, but, since those assassins were clearly trying to dispose of Zen, it didn't seem very likey. There was no way Kiki could tell but she had a feeling the fact that the Firstborn Prince had forbidden his brother to leave the castle so vehemently this month had something to do with this. As usual, Zen hadn't listened and Mitsuhide hadn't gotten authoritative and Kiki was still too new to add her opinion.

The wooden planks of the harbor were slippery with blood. The smell mixed with the stench of fish and algae.

A primal instinct made her whirl around, pure reflex guiding her. Her sword came up in a silver arc, catching a trident swung by a faceless man with a black mask and dark clothes in mid-air. Two more men were approaching, swinging over the low-hanging roofs of the harbor buildings. Kiki focused on the first man, grabbed at the trident and used the weapon to whirl him around. At the same time she took a step forward and kicked him hard, her leg coming up in a sideway-kick. Arms flailing, he fell into the black, dirty harbor water, cursing her and the Prince in a stream of profanities she hoped Zen wouldn't pick up. His two comrades hesitated a second too long. Kiki used the extra time to grab Zen's sword. The weight of both weapons was comforting, though Zen's was a bit heavier than she would have liked. When the men attacked, the whirling swords stabbed one man in the side and cut off the arm of the second. Both stumbled backwards. One collapsed, the second one rolled away from her, still clutching his own weapon. In one fluid motion she followed him, her foot kicking away his trident, her sword piercing his heart. Blood splattered, a few droplets reaching her face. The man groaned, coughed up blood, shuddered and went still. Suddenly the air was clear again. The red haze lifted from before Kiki's eyes and her mind snapped out of combat mode. Nobody was left.

Zen.

Zen was watching, his face a stony mask. For a second she wondered, her mind whirling, before it came up with an answer. He had seen people die before, had seen his knight kill and perhaps even had killed himself, otherwise he would have looked far worse. The adrenaline faded from her system only slowly. Tension still held her in a tight grip, though the harbor seemed free of enemies and villagers alike. In the peripheral region of her vision Mitsuhide appeared, his sword still drawn, his face a mask not unlike his liege-lord's. He gave Zen a total once-over before he turned to her. His eyes were unreadable, his face a mask of emptiness. When Kiki nodded he nodded back and marched over to the thug she had only wounded. Not too gently, he grabbed the man's collar and pulled him up.

"Who sent you?"

"Go… to… hell!"

The man laughed, choked on blood, then took a deep, rattling breath. Kiki could almost hear his lungs being filled with his own blood.

"You are the first to go," Mitsuhide told him, in a voice far too cold and calm for Kiki to connect it to him. "I'll follow you. But not today."

"The Prince… must die."

The man shuddered and died, a crooked smile still on his lips. Disgusted, Mitsuhide let him glide back to the ground.

"Prince Zen, I think we should leave."

…

Kiki found him in the training hall, hours later.

Mitsuhide was going through the motions of a well-known training form, his sword a silver arc in the light of the lamps. Around him the darkness seemed profound, impenetrable, the only lantern drew long shadows onto the ground but failed to illuminate his face. It seemed as if he was part of the darkness himself, with only his hair and his sword gleaming in the flickering light from time to time. Sweat pooled on his face.

He didn't react when he saw her. Kiki leaned against the wall silently, crossed her arms and waited.

Finally, Mitsuhide lowered his sword, sheathed it, wiped sweat from his forehead and came towards her, leaning against the wall and then sliding it down all the way until he sat on the ground.

"Zen saw you kill before."

Kiki stated it. She knew it was true.

"Yes."

He was staring off into the distance, as if she wasn't there. She hated that look.

"He's not afraid of you."

Kiki wasn't sure whether she meant this reassuring or accusing. Regardless, Mitsuhide didn't answer. He just brushed a hand over his face, the gesture of a person much older and more tired than him, and shrugged.

"He should be. You should be afraid, too."

"I'm like you."

It made him smile. A tiny, small smile, but at least it was one.

"Perhaps."

Kiki was offended. "I killed people, too."

"I didn't mean to offend."

But he didn't explain, either. Silently, she sank to the ground and leaned back on the wall next to him. They sat in silence until Mitsuhide shook his head.

"There's no glory in killing people."

"There is in protecting Zen."

Again, he merely shrugged. The tiny smile was there again, barely outside her reach. She liked it more than his distant gaze.

"Where does he plan on going next?"

"Tanbarun."

"Well, at least we're not at war with _them_."

"He'll have to wait until he's not grounded anymore."

Kiki chuckled quietly. "Prince Izana stationed guards at every entrance and window of his rooms. And he knows he can't leave just now. Little steps, huh."

"Perhaps."

His fingers slid over his sheathed sword, up and down, back and forth. Unconsciously. Like her, he had to rely on his sword often. His eyes were the one of a man who disliked using it and yet relied on it far more than on anything else. _Had to_ rely on it. Kiki watched how his long fingers – he could have become musician, she thought, or artist – curled around the hilt of his sword and gripped it tightly. They were alike in many aspects, her sword and his, just like he and she were alike. In everything that mattered, at least. Not in many other things.

"No glory."

A repetition, soft as a wind's breath, and Kiki almost thought she had misheard him.

"For Zen."

For things like this, she knew, she would love him.


End file.
